


The Love Coconut of Unknown Origins

by AndreaLyn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:39:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How is it that he’s come across a rudimentary form of sex pollen and he’d distributed it <i>through the entire plane</i>?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Love Coconut of Unknown Origins

Despite the rumours to the contrary, accidents in the lab aboard the Bus only happen two percent of the time. Two percent is a laughable number, especially given the number of extremely dangerous things they do and in the pressing timelines handed to them. Fitz is still very proud of their ninety-eight percent success rate, but that does mean that two percent of the time, things go wrong.

And today, things have gone very, very wrong.

Fitz is still hacking up his lungs from the awful dust cloud that had surrounded him when he’d broken apart the 0-8-4 using a laser saw, though Simmons had left to get something that could crack it open by force.

“It’s not a coconut,” Fitz had tried desperately to protest, but Simmons was a lost cause. She had left the bus to go into town and find an appropriate tool and Fitz had grown impatient. Now, there’s pink something swirling in the air and getting sucked up into all the vents as very loud, very alarming bell sounds go off indicating a foreign presence in the lab that is definitely not approved.

Taking precautionary measures, Fitz slams the quarantine protocols into place, slamming the doors shut from the inside and grabbing an oxygen mask and a pair of goggles, as if that would do anything against the pink invasion. He figures he’s got about five minutes before the rest of the Bus comes hollering at him to find out what’s wrong.

Turns out, it’s not five minutes.

Because two minutes later, Skye comes careening around the corner like her arse has been lit on fire, ending up at the glass with her palms flush against it, peering inside at Fitz like he’s an exhibit in the zoo. “Fitz!” she shouts, through the glass. “Are you okay?” She’s coughing too, waving particles out of her face which means that he had been too late to hit the quarantine and some of whatever that was made it through. 

Coulson is going to kill him.

If Ward and May don’t get there first, at least.

“What is this stuff?” she wonders. Fitz reluctantly opens the doors because if they’ve been exposed, there’s no point in keeping separate from everyone else. Simmons is going to kill him for opening it up without her, especially when it apparently contains some foreign substance that he needs her to identify. 

He gestures for Skye to join him as he begins to scrape up samples from the residual pink dust on the table, bottling up a few test tubes to make sure they have enough samples in the event it does something unknown and terrible to their systems. Skye wanders inside, taking a deep breath and...

Well, that’s interesting.

“Do that again,” Fitz says. “Take a deep breath.”

Skye glances at him, confused, but takes another deep breath as Fitz leans in to study her like a scientific experiment. “Okay,” she says, voice fluttering softly.

Her pupils have dilated to an extraordinary degree. He reaches out and takes her wrist, sliding his thumb over it until he finds her pulse, which is racing. Delicately sniffing, he notes that the perfume Skye normally wears is slightly off, indicating that her body chemistry has shifted. Fitz really wishes Simmons were here because this is absolutely more her area of expertise. 

“I didn’t know you felt the same way I did,” Skye murmurs, giving Fitz an indication of how close the both of them are. He sort of never really noticed before that his nose is smack dab at her neck, their bodies nearly flush together. 

And, hold on...

“Felt what way with the same where now?” Fitz replies, feeling a bit like he’s sixteen and in the middle of a very familiar dream that can’t possibly be happening in real life. “Skye,” he says, staring at her as he realizes what all the signs she’s displaying are. He drops her hand like a hot potato, taking a step back and staring at the vials of pink dust with horror. 

Oh, no, no, no.

How is it that he’s come across a rudimentary form of sex pollen and he’d distributed it _through the entire plane_? Everyone is going to kill him. Fitz actually senses that he is going to be dead by everyone’s hands. He takes in a deep breath and wonders how quickly he can come up with a negating serum, given that he’s had physical contact with the dust whereas the others have all inhaled it.

Where is Jemma when he needs her?

That thought is cut short when Fitz looks at Skye and then recalls the situation they’re in. If Simmons comes back now, she’s likely going to be exposed the same as the rest of them, which means that she’s not going to be very capable of thought. Also, Fitz needs to stop thinking about Simmons when there’s sex pollen in his system because he’s been having multiple naughty dreams about her and the very thought of them now makes his trousers tight. 

He lets out an uncomfortable, high laugh, and stares at Skye, who is advancing with a determined gleam in her eyes. “Skye,” Fitz gets out, voice shaking as he tries to hold himself together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she murmurs, running her fingers over his clavicle. “Nothing bad is going to hap...” Her mouth falls open, staring at Fitz accusingly. He releases the pressure of his fingertip on the night-night gun, watching as the dendro-toxin spreads its way through her veins, temporarily glowing blue as she collapses.

Right, now, where had he put the refill cartridges?

It’s not going to be in time, it seems, because as he’s sweating and rummaging madly through the drawers, he hears a very angry set of footsteps that can only belong to one very angry sort of man. Fitz takes a deep breath and turns, anticipating Ward to be doused with pheromones and completely out of his mind.

What he doesn’t expect is for Ward to not say a word as he charges forward, pinning Fitz to the wall with his very strong hands before using his very strong mouth (can you even work your lips out? No, Fitz doesn’t want to think about it, very bad ideas). Fitz wishes that the aphrodisiac components of that stupid dust weren’t making him enjoy this just a bit.

“You just walked over Skye’s body!” Fitz protests. “How are you so h...ha...” Fitz swallows the rest of that word when Ward’s incredibly hard erection is pushed into him. “You’re going to kill me when this clears your head,” Fitz warns.

“Shut up,” Ward growls.

“Actually, the both of you should shut up,” comes a new voice.

Fitz looks over Ward’s shoulder to see May standing in the doorway. If he hadn’t been in trouble before, then he thinks he’s absolutely fucked now. 

No, actually, no, not fucked. He does not need to think about being fucked in these circumstances, that is not what he wants to do. Fitz gives a pained little whimper, unable to think of a solution out of this and the night-night gun needs a refill. Forget that, he doesn’t know how he’s going to manage to stun May and Ward given that his own reflexes are probably shot from the way his fingers are trembling right now.

 _Think, Fitz,_ he coaxes himself. _Use your genius brain and think_.

And when the idea strikes, Fitz wishes that he weren’t such a genius because it’s not a very good plan. Actually, it’s sort of the worst plan in the world, but it will get him out of this mess. It just means that he’s going to have plentiful nightmares for a while. “No need to fight,” Fitz offers, settling his heart rate as he regards Ward and May before him. “Between the three of us, don’t you think we could have something of a good time?”

Ward seems curious, but May isn’t sold.

Right, different tack. How about honesty? “I’ve accidentally released some kind of sex pollen in the air and everyone seems to be coming down here because it’s targeted here like a honing beacon,” he says. “But until Simmons gets back, I have no idea how long it will take to wear off.”

“Would having sex help?” Ward asks, completely serious.

Fitz is actually going to have nightmares for years. “I have no idea. Please don’t try with me,” he begs.

“He wasn’t going to,” May replies evenly, holding her composure together very well considering she has to be falling apart on the inside the same as Skye because their relative body mass is about the same, but May seems to be holding her composure together a whole lot better. Well, at least he’s reassured as far as the resilience of his teammates goes. “Grant,” she says, cocking her head to one side. “Let go of Fitz.”

He does.

“Now, come here.”

And look at that, he does as she says _again_. Fitz is almost ready to look for hidden devices controlling Ward’s brain because he never does as Fitz or Simmons says so easily. Fitz didn’t honestly think there’d been some kind of puppet-like control involved in the sex pollen, but Ward is walking as though he’s been programmed to listen to May’s every word.

At least this means the attention is off him, which is lucky given that he’s becoming increasingly hard. While Ward and May are having their little standoff, Fitz sneaks a hand down his trousers to give himself a little release, giving a choked sob of happiness when it helps just a tiny bit. 

Fitz watches as May grabs hold of Ward and drags him in, kissing him as if a lamprey might attach its host. It’s like watching the bloody nature channel, he thinks, aware that his fingers are still on his cock and he’s watching Ward and May put on a show.

Oh god, he’s become a common voyeur. “This is all the sex coconut’s fault,” Fitz complains weakly, happy when Ward carries May off in his arms because that means the chances of exhibitionistic sex or a threesome have greatly decreased. 

Fitz slams his back against the wall and sinks to the ground. Skye is still unconscious, Simmons is still gone, and the terrible twosome are probably about to break a great deal of furniture having some very athletic sex. 

Unfortunately, that leaves one very pressing unknown.

Said unknown is walking towards the lab, clad in a suit, and walking at a reduced pace. Fitz struggles to his feet, standing at attention and staring at Coulson, carefully cataloguing his physical reactions. There’s a twitch on his face, his hands are curled at his sides, and his breathing is shaky. 

“Fitz,” Coulson breathes out. “Did you just infect my plane with sex pollen?”

“Uh...”

“Fitz,” Coulson gets out sternly.

“I can’t categorize it officially as sex pollen until Jemma gives an opinion,” Fitz blurts out, which is the truth. “Sir.” He cringes when a small movement makes the fabric of his trousers brush against his ever-persisting erection. He doesn’t know how Coulson is standing so well because Fitz has been on his feet for about a minute and his legs are shaking like a newborn colt’s and he’s about to slide back to the floor and start humping it any moment.

Maybe Tahiti implanted some kind of iron-sexual chastity belt in Coulson’s programming.

“I am going to lock myself in my soundproofed room,” Coulson says, each word careful and methodical. “ _After_ you help me get Skye to hers and do the same.” Fitz opens his mouth to protest that he’s in no condition. “And when you have the run of the plane, you are going to make sure that Simmons figures a way to clear his out of our systems.”

Fitz nods frantically, staring at Skye’s prone body and wishing that his over-sexed mind didn’t find her incredibly attractive, even like this. It’s his own damn fault for having eyes, it really is. 

Though the journey is shaky and precarious, Fitz manages to help Coulson get Skye in her room, then locking Coulson away in his. He keeps his distance, his mind starting to get a bit cloudier than before, which he takes as a sign that the powder has the ability to strip inhibitions utterly and completely, which is scary and terrifying.

“Good luck,” Coulson says, before hitting the locks.

He’s going to need every single bit of luck he can get, too, because no sooner than he’s on his back to the lab does he hear the landing gear of the plane going down and Simmons’ familiar voice echoing through the bay.

“Fitz, I’m back!” she calls. 

Fitz fumbles with his phone, desperately trying to send her a text to tell her to put a gas mask on or to _run_ , but his hands are too shaky to do anything but drop the phone on the grated floor, sending it clattering down between levels. “No, no, no,” he repeats over and over, running towards the fire.

He takes three steps at a time down the stairs, watching as Simmons takes delicate sniffs in the air, taking the terrible toxin into her lungs and her bloodstream, which means that she’s going to be in the same position as him. Fitz lets out a keening whine, staring at Simmons and how her labcoat makes her glow like a perfect, beautiful science angel.

She looks up at him with that sweet, perfect smile and lifts up a bottle of pills. “Come down here and get your inoculation already,” she beckons.

He stumbles the rest of the way down, utterly confused by what she’s talking about. “Now’s a pretty bad time for a vaccine,” he says, swallowing so hard that he hears it. 

“Agent Coulson texted me about the trouble hours ago,” she says. “Why do you think I’ve been gone for so long? He emailed me a quick scan of the atmosphere and I was able to create an antidote against the effects, took a pill before I came back, and now I have to take care of you,” she says, stepping forward to slide her fingers over Fitz’s cheek, sliding her hand into his curls and giving him a fond look. “Good thing I wasn’t here when it cracked open, otherwise I can’t imagine we’d get much done, what with me mounting you on the table...”

“Jemma,” Fitz cuts her off. 

Between their proximity, the pollen, and her words, he is _achingly_ hard and it is pressed right up against her.

“I thought that was the night-night gun,” she says, peering down with wide eyes, though her delighted smile curves upwards and soon the shock is gone, replaced by interest. She reaches down to slide her hand into his, pressing two pills into his palm. “Take these,” she says. “And if you still want to exercise your right to sex with me...well, I’ll be in my cabin,” she says, kissing his cheek as she passes him by.

Fitz stares at the pills in his hand, swallowing them frantically in an attempt to calm his overheated body down. He needs his brain to make some rational decisions, but then again, he also wants to take advantage of the fact that Simmons is very willing and Fitz has a lot of energy to burn.

He settles for the compromise. It’s going to take a little while to clear his mind and Simmons had been very clear about inviting him to her room. 

Leo Fitz is a genius, after all, he isn’t about to pass down a golden opportunity.

* * *

Hours later, Simmons is naked and sprawled out under Fitz’s sheets, her limbs lazy and sated and her brain a gibbering mess. It’s _lovely_ and perfect. She slides her foot up the inside of Fitz’s calf, running her fingers over his chest. “So you’re saying Ward and May are sleeping together?” she asks.

“Either that or she’s using him for some nefarious scheme,” Fitz agrees, trying to tame his hair down. “And it was like Coulson wasn’t affected at all.”

“Did you get blood samples?” Simmons asks eagerly. “What an amazing opportunity to study...”

Fitz leans over her, grasping her by her bare hips and kissing her to silence any talk of science. He absolutely wants to pursue this lead later, but there are still lingering traces of some sort of sex pollen in his system and he appears to want to work the rest of it out. 

Simmons eases her head back onto her pillow and stares at Fitz with a dreamy countenance, tracing her fingers over his pink, wet lips. “Or we could run some more physical trials,” she suggests coyly.

“That,” Fitz says with happy determination. “Definitely that.”


End file.
